


Taken Away

by mggislife2789



Category: Criminal Minds, Spencer Reid - Fandom
Genre: F/M, Prison
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-05
Updated: 2017-03-05
Packaged: 2018-09-28 14:02:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,445
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10111679
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mggislife2789/pseuds/mggislife2789
Summary: Disclaimer: I don't own any of these characters or their original stories. This is only for fun. It's where my brain goes after the credits roll. No copyright intended. Better safe than sorry. ;)





	

“Derek,” you breathed as he answered the door. 

“What’s wrong?” he asked immediately, a sleeping Hank in his arms. “What happened?”

What hadn’t happened? You’re life was falling apart, that’s what was wrong. “You haven’t gotten a call?” you asked softly, wondering where the hell you were supposed to begin with this clusterfuck of a situation Spencer was in. 

Derek shook his head, ushering you into the house with the hand that wasn’t holding Hank. “What happened? Where’s Reid?” At the mention of your husband, you started sobbing. “What happened to Reid?” he asked in horror. By the look in his eyes, you could tell Derek though he’d died - been killed in the field or something - but that wasn’t the case. Honestly, you didn’t know which one was worse. Dead was dead. But alive and suffering - yea, that had to be worse. 

“He’s been arrested,” you managed to choke out. Your poor sweet husband who’d never hurt a fly had been arrested. 

“Arrested for what?!” he exclaimed, higher than he’d intended which woke the sleeping infant. “He’s not on the drugs again, is he?”

Hanging your head in your hands, you shook it side to side. “No, he’s not.” The relief washed over him in waves. “He’s been arrested for murder.”

“You can’t be serious,” he said the tears pooling in front of his pupils as he spoke. “Reid wouldn’t hurt a fly.”

“I know that! You know that!” you yelled, immediately lowering your voice when baby Hank started to stir. You reached out for him and Derek placed him in your arms. With Spencer in prison, his little namesake was all you had, so you held him close, praying to anyone who would listen that Spencer would get out of this mess. “He’s been arrested for killing a doctor down in Mexico.”

“Mexico?” he asked confused. “What the hell is going on?”

For the first time since his mother had been diagnosed with Alzheimer’s, you recounted the story to Derek. After learning of her prognosis, Spencer had looked into any possible medication or treatment that might help his mother - anything that would slow the progress, anything that might make her feel comfortable, anything - it didn’t matter. If there was a possibility it could help in any way, he was willing to look into it.

“He found a supplement that would help slow the progression,” you said, caressing Hank’s cheek as he fell back to sleep. A tear nearly fell onto the blanket he was wrapped in, but you caught it with your finger and continued on. “Problem was, we could only get it in Mexico, so Spencer went first. After we ran out, I went, and then when we ran out again, he went. That’s when he was arrested. When they found him, they said he was high on drugs - heroin and cocaine.”

Derek shuddered at the thought. He had been there before you. He was there when Spencer was taken by Tobias Henkel and beaten and drugged for two days. There is no way in hell Spencer would ever go back on dilauded, no less heroin and cocaine. “He was drugged.”

“I know he was. You know he was. He knows he was,” you said. “But the Mexican police chased him driving away from the crime scene with drugs in his system and a dead woman nearby. They’re convinced it’s him, but it’s…”

“Scratch,” he said, finishing your sentence with a sigh. “It has to be him. First, it was Hotch. Then Tara, I heard what happened to Tara’s family, and now Reid. He’s playing the long game.”

“If I get my hands on him, I’m gonna fucking kill him,” you cried, collapsing into Derek’s outstretched arm. "He’s being arraigned tomorrow. Can you be there?”

Instead of replying, he just hugged you, silently reassuring you that he would be there no matter what.

—–

The next day came too fast and you were sitting in between Garcia and Morgan waiting for your husband to be arraigned. Rossi said he’d post bail no matter the cost - you couldn’t possibly thank him enough. 

The night before, Morgan told Savannah what was happening and asked her to take the baby so he could be there for Reid. She more than understood. Thank god. Because you didn’t know what you would do without Morgan’s hand to hold. The entire team you’d been nearly tuned out, unable to process what the hell was going on, until you heard the gavel. “Suspect is remanded pending trial.” Spencer turned around toward you, his eyes full of a striking fear you’d never seen in him before.

No.

No.

What was happening?

Without thinking, you lunged toward your husband, desperate to hold him and tell him to be strong, but Morgan held you back as the judge reprimanded you. “Morgan, don’t let them take him away. They’re gonna kill him in there.” All you could think of was his status as a federal agent. Put that in conjunction with his sweet face and lanky form, he was going to get slaughtered in there. He might not even make it trial. While all you could think of was him, apparently all he could think of was you. Just as he was being taken away, he struggled against the guards to say one more thing. 

“Morgan, take care of her! Please!”

As he was taken through the door and out of your sight, you collapsed onto your knees with a thud, but it didn’t hurt. You couldn’t feel anything. All you felt was the sting of tears as they pricked at the corners of your eyes and again as they streamed down your cheeks, pooling in a never-ending puddle on the floor.

—–

You’d intended to go visit him the next day, but you were so distraught, you could barely get out of bed, instead staying in, wrapped up in a blanket and crying for nearly the entire day. Derek had visited him in your place. You’d nearly gone into another crying fit when he said that all Spencer could talk about was keeping you safe. He was convinced that Scratch was coming after everyone and all he cared about was keeping you out of harm’s way. Your husband could die in prison accused of something he didn’t do, or he could die at the hands of an inmate, and all he cared about was you. 

He was too good. You had a warm bed. A fireplace. Friends within driving distance. A job you loved. He had a cot. A cold cell. Friends outside those four walls. He may or may not have a job anymore, depending on what happened. You were as fine as you could be in this situation. He wasn’t. The situation was horrid enough.

Now, it was two days after his arraignment, and you were going to visit him. “My name is Y/N Reid,” you said to the guard. “I’m here to see my husband.”

The guard huffed, a derisive breath escaping his nose as he looked at you. “Should talk to him while you can,” he laughed. “He’s too pretty to make it in here.”

For the umpteenth time in the last few days, the tears pricked the corners of your eyes and you came face to face with the guard, grabbing him by the tie and pulling him toward you. “You will make sure he stays safe in here, because I swear to God, if something happens to him and I find out you instigated it, you outed him as an agent, you looked in his general direction the wrong way, I. Will. Kill. You. Now, where can I go to see my husband?”

As he pointed down the hallway, his eyes filled with fear. You let go of his tie and spun around on the balls of your feet, stomping down the hallway to where you would be able to see Spencer. “Baby,” you cried upon seeing his face. “Are you okay?”

You husband smiled. He smiled. “I’m fine,” he lied. “Please don’t cry. I’m okay.” 

“You’re not,” you sobbed, putting your hand up to the glass. Apparently, inmates had to earn the privilege of seeing their loved ones in person. “You’re in jail for a crime you didn’t commit. I’m so sorry.”

“I’m not,” he breathed, flattening his palm against the reflection of yours. “If this is Scratch, I’d rather he come after me than you.”

“We aren’t going to stop until you come home, do you hear me?” you said, the phone shaking in your grasp. “I will turn over every blade of grass to make sure you come back to me.”

“I know you will.”


End file.
